Brothers
by Kayarde
Summary: They have the most dysfunctional sibling relationship in history but they are trying. HRE is Germany theory.


Brothers  
 _by Kayarde_  


Germany sat on the stairs that lead up to the Charles throne in the Cathedral of Aachen. It was a miracle that it had escaped mostly unscathed from the battle for the city in WW2 and it was probably one of the last places anybody would look for him. Germany had spent the early morning in his bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach after he had woken up from that roller coaster of a nightmare. And he had no ambition to explain his older, no younger siblings, no his children, what had happened (especially now that the brother or son he was closest to was imprisoned behind a bloody barbed wire fence); his children who had grown faster than the country that had given birth to them, his children who paid the price for his arrogance; so he'd decided to hide in the Aachen Cathedral where he'd been born together with his brother and sister from the union of Germania and Gallia over a millennium ago. Their mother had been beautiful and cultured and as much as Germany loathed to admit it, his brother was the one who got the looks while he grew into the brawns and about the question about who got the brain, well, that was debatable, probably their long dead sister.

He'd been dreaming the night before and he remembered his childhood, his illness, but the memories that returned to him the clearest were the memories of his older brother. Most of the pictures in his mind were still blurred but the details came back piece by piece. They had been three little children born at the same time but his brother had been the fastest to grow up. He had been a real nation long before Germany had ever had a chance and his brother had done his very best to kill him. And he would have succeeded hadn't it been for his people who desired to live in a united land.

These were memories Germany never knew he had lost and they hadn't come back to him until last night. He had always believed that he had been born in the revolution of 1848 but it seemed that he only reawakened then. He'd always thought that he, Germany, was the successor of the Holy Roman Empire. Not in his life did he imagine that he had been the Holy Roman Empire of German Nation himself. Thousand years' worth of memories assaulted his mind and he had to get them into a resemblance of order or he'd lose his sanity sooner or later.

He was lost in thought so he didn't notice when someone approached him.

Someone he absolutely didn't want to see right now.

"What are you doing here, in this sacred place?"

"Hiding" Germany snarled up at France.

"This isn't a place where one should be hiding. This is a holy place. Not that you ignorant barbarian could ever understand the significance of this Catholic Church." Germany nearly jumped at France ready to throttle him and give him a piece of how he knew exactly the significance of this place when he remembered exactly in what position he was in. He took a deep breath.

"Just go away and leave me alone"

"Fine I'll leave since this is your land after all" France sounded disgusted at the thought that this Cathedral (which was important for the French history since his first ruler Charlemagne had been crowned here) was in the hands of this thug. He'd just wanted to visit it again after all these years and remember the carefree childhood days he had spent with his sister and brother. And now that barbarian of a nation ruined his mood.

Germany was grateful when France turned to leave until he remembered something he needed to ask France.

"Wait, France!" France turned around. Germany again took a deep breath trying to reign his temper in. "I wanted to ask you, how is Saarland, is she alright? She's in your custody, is she not?"

"Yes Sarre is under my care and when she is back on her feet she'll become an independent nation away from your harmful influence."

"As if your influence is more beneficial; the last time I've seen a sign of life from Lothringen was when you took her with you over thirty years ago. I don't even know if she is still alive." France flinched at the accusation which in turn made Germany cringe. "She disappeared. She disappeared, didn't she?"

But France didn't answer. Lorraine had been his little niece and when he had finally gotten her back from that barbarian in front of him she slowly began to age as her citizens became his, France's citizens until she simply faded away and her body became one with the earth. It hadn't been the first time he had witnessed the disappearance of a country or province but it had been the first time when there had been no successor. That was until he had realised that France had succeeded his sister Middle Francia's daughter himself. Normally a new nation would rise from the land like that brute Germany who had followed in the footsteps of the Holy Roman Empire. There was nothing France regretted more than that he personally killed his weak, fragile brother who had admired him and had always tried but failed to become like France, a real nation. If Holy Rome had still been alive neither war would have happened.

"Answer me!" Germany demanded. He had lost what had been left of his self-restraint and pressed France against a pillar with a strength that was unusual for a defeated nation. "What happened to her? What did you do to our niece? Did you fuck her so hard that she bled out under you like you did to Rhineland or did you simply slit her throat like you did with me?"

France stared at Germany trying to process what the other nation just said.

"Answer…" Germany let go of Frances throat as if he had been burned by it. He was a defeated nation and the victors could easily tear him apart limp by limp. They could distribute the German states among themselves and claim them as their colonies. He'd seen it happen before and not that he was any better than the rest of them, no he was even worse and hadn't he and Russia tried to tear Poland apart. He had absolutely no right to claim the moral high ground in this situation.

He swallowed and took a step back. Because of him and his despicable deeds his siblings, no his _children_ were at the mercy of countries known for their ways to deal with unruly colonies and rebellious provinces. And here he was attacking a victor. "I'm sorry."

France continued to stare, the Germany he knew, the one that crowned his Kaiser in France's very own Versailles in 1871, the one who even in defeat held his head high and with a stoic, uncaring facade signed the Treaty of Versailles in 1918, the one that fought wars with a brutality unknown to men until this point, would never cower like that before an enemy. What the hell happened to the pride, the overconfidence, the arrogance the nation always had? He just stood there as if he expected to be hit, shoulders hanging, head bowed.

"I'm sorry" Germany whispered again.

In a way France was reminded of East Francia (who would eventually become the Holy Roman Empire) when it had been decided that the Francian Empire was to be split into three nations between the three grandsons of Charlemagne. They didn't want to be separated. What they felt had nothing to do with their citizens (since most of them didn't care for whom they had to pay their taxes) it was entirely personal between the three siblings.

France or West Francia as he was known back then had thrown a temper tantrum and had been grumbling, Middle Francia had looked ready to start an uprising to keep the three of them together but East Francia had turned all quiet and stood by as West and Middle Francias respective rulers talked them into cooperation (France remembered that he had received a slap in the face for his cheek). So no one had expected East to lash out at his soon to be ruler when the future king tried to pick him up and carry him away. The monarch had a black eye and a dislocated shoulder by the time he was finally able to subdue East.

And East had received a beating for his defiance.

For the next century whenever his king would make a fast movement East Francia would flinch. France could easily replace the broad, heavily built form of Germany with the small and fragile one of little East Francia. Both had this beaten look to them.

Then he remembered that Germany had referred to Lorraine as _their_ niece.

France mind reeled. France was West Francia, Middle Francia, his sister, was dead, that left his brother East Francia, the Holy Roman Empire, Germany. Germany was the Holy Roman Empire.

With a frown on his face France advanced on Germany who fearfully retreated until he bumped with the back into a pillar. Germany made no move to defend himself as France laid one hand around the others neck and used the other to push Germany's chin up. There he felt it, right under the jawbone, a scar that lined Germany's neck like a necklace. A scar caused by a sword; France would know he put it there when he tried and as it now turned out failed to kill his little brother.

Now that he knew the similarity was so obvious that France wanted to slam his head against the pillar next to him. How could he not have seen it before? How hadn't anybody seen it before?

Once they had been so close. Once they had been sides of a triangle each just as important as the other two. Together they had been an Empire powerful enough to give the Roman Empire a run for his money. They had been brothers. So what the hell went wrong?

Then France remembered something Middle Francia had said shortly before their separation.

"' _We'll never be great on our own. We three together could be the greatest Empire in the entire European history, together we are even greater than the Roman Empire. But they are splitting us apart, dividing our strength. How are we supposed to become Empires when that would mean tearing at each other? I don't want that to happen. I don't want to kill either of you. And I don't want you to kill each other_.' It is scary how accurate she described what would happen between us." France stepped back to give Germany some space. His brother looked up with sad, defeated understanding in his gaze.

"Between the three of us she was the one who got the brains." Germany slumped down on the stairs in front of the Charles Throne and France got the feeling that he was relieved.

"Why did you never tell anyone who you are?" France asked.

Germany momentarily tensed then looked up at France. "I didn't remember until last night. This is the reason why I'm here. There are a lot of happier memories within these walls. I thought it would be easier to get them in some order then the other memories."

France sat down next to Germany, his _brother_. "Funny, I came here for the same reason."

The silence that settled between them was a weird one. It was neither comfortable but neither did they know how to break it without feeling awkward. It hurt knowing that the person next to one is the person that suffered by your hand the most. Over the last hundred years their egos clashed in a horrible violent way and yet. And yet they knew only together they could really change something on the continent; a continent of cities turned to rubble and fields turned to ash.

France drew a breath and looked his brother in the eye.

"Let's start anew. Bonjour, I am the République Française, but you can call me France."

"Es ist mir eine Freude (*), I am the Bundesrepublik Deutschland, but Germany is just fine."

They still had thousands of issues to work out but it was a beginning, the beginning of a brighter future.

* * *

AN: Hetalia isn't mine...

(*) Es ist mir eine Freude - It's my pleasure

I needed to write something to get over with my bad mood and that made me feel a bit better.  
This one-shot addresses a head-canon of mine and it might be helpful to have Wikipedia open to look at the historic maps. And about the historic facts that build the groundwork for this story, I have put them together on my profile.  
I hope you enjoyed reading.  
Have a nice day.


End file.
